Mr Mason Goes to the Doctor
by organanation
Summary: Perry Mason has the first of what will be many knee surgeries. Set around the time of the movies, but I've taken a few liberties with the canon. Just some fluff with a dash of angst to bring out the flavor. (Mason/Street Files: The Golden Years)
1. Chapter 1

_AN: My first crack at movie-era Perry and Della. You'll find that I've taken some liberties with canon, but I do hope you won't mind. Referenced in ch. 2 is 'Notorious Nun' and the whole story was sort of based around the beginning scenes in 'Murdered Madam'. Knowledge of those movies, however, is not necessary to read these! Also, before you ask, yes, the story about the cruise ship is forthcoming ;) Thanks eversomuch to the usual suspects for all their help and support. _

Perry was hobbling alongside her as she carried his bag. They stopped at the front desk where he checked himself in. Della gave him a calming smile as the nurse brought them down to a room. She went through all the typical questions and little tests-temperature, blood pressure, oxygenation-and she produced a little plastic band which she fastened loosely around Perry's wrist.

"Now, Mr. Mason, you can change into this gown and get comfortable in bed. Mrs. Mason, you can have a seat there, or you can step out in the hall if Mr. Mason would rather have some privacy. We're running on schedule right now, so someone will be in shortly to take some blood and get the IV hooked up." The woman gave them a kind smile before closing the door behind herself on the way out.

"Are you going to leave, Mrs. Mason?" Perry teased, leaning his cane against the hospital bed and shrugging out of his jacket.

Della pulled the metal chair out of the closet and set it up beside the bed. "I don't think you have anything under there that I haven't seen a few hundred times before, Mr. Street," Della retorted. He chuckled and followed the nurse's directions. Della folded his clothes carefully and tucked them into the bag. "Only you would wear a three piece suit to your own knee surgery," she ribbed, rolling his tie and putting it at the top of the bag.

"Dress to impress," he replied, covering himself with the papery blankets. Della opened the door once he was settled. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back against the inclined bed.

"Everything's going to be okay," she reassured in a whisper, covering one of his hands with hers and pressing a kiss to his temple before taking a seat in the folding chair. "It'll be over before you know it, and then you'll have a few days to relax, and we'll be back in the office on Monday. And your knee won't bother you."

"I've spent my whole life appearing as if I'm not scared of anything. Made a living out of it. Funny thing though, I haven't been able to question my knee into submission, or my doctor either."

Della chuckled and slid her chair closer. "You'll be just fine. They'll give you plenty of pain medicine, and I'll be here when you wake up. They can't kick me out when visiting hours are over now that I'm actually listed as your wife."

Another nurse entered the room and Della spent the next thirty minutes absorbing as much information as possible-his vitals were in a good range, even if his blood pressure was a little high. The doctor stopped in to talk briefly through the procedure one last time and mark the knee they were to operate on with a purple pen.

"It'll be over in no time, Mr. Mason, I promise. And one more thing before we get you off to OR-make sure you remove any jewelry. Necklaces, wedding rings, belly button piercings, everything," he said with a wink at Della. "I don't mean to brag, but you're in good hands. Let's get you on the road to feeling better."

"I was hoping I'd be wearing this when I died," Perry said, pulling the black stone ring off his pinky.

"Perry Mason. You are _not_ going to die. I simply won't allow it." Della stood up, leaned over the hospital bed, and gave him a long kiss. "Now, I'll hold onto this for a few hours, and you can have it back when you wake up." She slipped his ring onto her fourth finger, just beside her own black-stone pinky ring.

The anesthesiologist was the next one through the door.

"Hello, folks. It's time to say goodnight for a few hours." She worked behind Perry's head for a few moments, giving them some semblance of privacy.

"Goodnight, Counselor," she whispered. "I'll see you in just a little bit." He nodded and squeezed her hand. An orderly joined them. "You take good care of him now," Della said. "We've got to be back in court in a few weeks."

"Yes, ma'am," the young man said with a smile.

The anesthesiologist held a mask up in front of Perry. "Take some deep, slow breaths. It'll be over before you know it."

As he breathed through the tube, Della held his gaze until his eyes slipped closed.

00

A complete success, the doctor had reported. No complications. All on schedule. Della was waiting in a small cubicle with Perry's unconscious form now, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off.

No one else would have recognized the low croaking sound as a word, much less a name, but Della knew instantly that he was starting to wake and was calling for her.

"I'm here," she whispered, taking his hand and perching on the edge of the bed. "I'm right here, Perry."

"Della," he murmured, clearer this time. Della brushed her fingers across his forehead. "I didn't die."

She couldn't hold in a laugh. "Of course you didn't, silly. You're just fine."

He continued to look at her, though his eyes couldn't quite focus and kept closing slowly despite his evident wish that they stay open.

"Water?" he croaked. Della reached for the styrofoam cup of tepid water the nurse had left on the tray table and held the straw still while Perry took a few sips.

"You can go back to sleep, darling," she murmured. "I'll stay right here." He nodded in understanding. Della stayed leaning against the edge of the bed for a few moments while she watched his chest rise and fall in the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Perry slept on as they were moved out of the recovery ward and into the room where he'd be spending the rest of his stay. Della had made a quiet call to Paul to assure him that the operation was a success, and then she'd dozed off in the faux leather recliner under the window.

He was watching her with a sleepy but tender gaze when she woke up.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like some quack of a doctor sawed through the bones in my leg," he retorted. Della rolled her eyes.

"Sounds to me like you're making a very speedy recovery, Counselor," she said, standing and stretching her stiff back. He made a non-commital noise in his throat. "Are you in pain?"

Perry nodded toward the IV. "They came in while you were sleeping and gave me the good stuff. I won't be feeling much of anything for another few hours."

Della smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "Paul asked after you. I told him it went well. He said he'd call tomorrow some time to keep you busy for a little while," she teased. Perry nodded again and Della saw him starting to slip back into sleep. She covered his hand with his and rubbed it with her thumb.

There was a knock on the door and an orderly poked his head in. "Excuse me, but visiting hours are over. Immediate family only."

"She's my wife," Perry mumbled, taking her hand with surprising strength.

"Oh, of course. Family has thirty more minutes." The man retreated into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

"They'll probably send up a late dinner if you ask the nurse nicely," Della said when Perry's stomach rumbled.

"Hospital food. I'm so excited," Perry deadpanned with his eyes closed.

"You need to keep up your strength. They'll take you off the good stuff by morning and make you swallow pills. It'll make you nauseated if you don't have something in your stomach."

"I'll eat _after_ I'm awake enough to see what I'm eating," he assured.

The night nurse came in to introduce herself and check his vitals. Della wasn't worried-the hospital had an excellent reputation, and Perry was doing fine. Seeing the efficiency of the woman as she took care of Perry made Della feel better about leaving for the night. It was one thing to sleep apart, knowing Perry was off lecturing in New York or advising at the capitol; it was entirely another to know that he was lying in a hospital bed hooked to monitors and IVs.

"The doctor said you can eat anytime, Mr. Mason. I can have some soup and a sandwich sent up if you're hungry," she offered.

"That'll be fine," he agreed, and she was off about her rounds.

Returning to the bedside, Della slipped his wedding ring back onto his pinky.

"In sickness and in health," he said, catching her hand.

"'Til death do us part," she added, tipping his chin up for a kiss. "And that won't be for quite a long time, if I have any say in it." He smiled as she leaned her forehead against his.

She stood up and dug through his suitcase. His slippers, she put at the bedside so they'd be there when he had to get up. There were crutches leaned against the wall, and she knew they'd have him up and around before he went to sleep for the night. She left his book and notepad on the table beside the bed to occupy him if he couldn't sleep. She tucked his bathrobe over the end of the bed. He watched her with affection as she unpacked this bag with the same efficiency as she would his briefcase when they arrived in the courtroom.

"It's almost time for me to go."

He nodded.

"You get some sleep," she said. He nodded again.

"You too, my darling."

"I will," she promised, leaning in to kiss him gently. "I'll be back first thing in the morning. Maybe I can even dig you up a case so we can break you out of here early."

"I'll hold you to that," he said.

Della collected her jacket and purse. "Goodnight, Mr. Street," she said with a smile from the doorway.

"Goodnight, "Mrs. Mason."


	2. Chapter 2

The house was too quiet when she returned. Not that she was never here alone, even at night. But somehow, without the promise that Perry would return in the still of the night to ease into their bed beside her...it was unnerving.

Sleeping beside a 65-year-old man with a bad knee wasn't exactly a piece of cake, but it was quickly becoming evident to Della that sleeping _without_ that 65 year old man wasn't going to be easy, either. She was rarely cold these days, in fact, she was lucky if she only had one or two hot flashes in a night. But the bed seemed to have a chill about it without Perry.

_I lived alone for decades. This is ridiculous, Della. Get it together._

She could go back to the hospital. She knew her way around it, knew enough of the staff that she could probably cheat and lie her way back into Perry's room.

But he needed rest, and so did she, if she was to keep him entertained all day tomorrow while he was confined to his hospital bed.

She clicked off the lamp beside her and settled into the covers, knowing that sleep would find her eventually.

She dreamed odd things all night, never completely falling into restful sleep.

The telephone rang and somehow, she found herself sitting at her desk at the office, the brightness of day streaming through the plate glass window.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm trying to reach Perry Mason's wife?" She didn't recognize the voice on the other end, but outside of a few close friends, the only people who would refer to her as Perry's wife were doctors or insurance companies.

"This is Della Street," she responded.

"Ma'am, I don't wish to alarm you, but your husband was brought to the emergency room via ambulance about 20 minutes ago."

_Oh my God…_her heart hit the floor. "What happened? Is he alright?"

"He blacked out and is complaining of chest pains. He's undergoing some tests right now."

"I'll be right down."

After running a red light, the drive took only ten minutes. She could hardly breathe as she walked in and asked to be directed to his room. Taking a moment first to steel herself, Della pushed open the door.

Perry was lying still in the hospital bed, the arch-bishop seated in a chair beside him.

"Is he-" Della whispered. She couldn't get out another word.

The bishop turned in his chair. "Oh, he's fine," he assured calmly. Della walked to the end of the bed, and Perry blinked his eyes open.

"I feel like I could ski down Mount Whitney," Perry said, giving her a reassuring smile.

"He never could catch up to me," the bishop said.

"That's true, but I could play gin." With that, the lawyer opened his briefcase and flipped over his hand.

"Ouch," he said, gathering the cards back into the deck. "How was your drive?"

Della ignored him and looked at her husband. "Perry, I was worried to death about you," she scolded, her heart finally slowing to a regular tempo. He looked at her almost guiltily. "They told me you collapsed from exhaustion. I rushed down here."

"I'm the one to blame, Della," the bishop said. He explained about the case and their secret plot to get Perry on the inside to investigate.

Della took a few calming breaths as Perry laid out his plans with Stefen.

The priest took his exit when the plans were set, after giving Della a warm hug and another apology that he hadn't reached her before the hospital staff. Perry had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking at her sheepishly. She sat in the arch-bishop's vacated chair.

"Now...about _you_," she began. He knew it was her gentle way of demanding an explanation.

"I'm fine," he promised. "Absolutely tip-top shape."

"I'm just glad you're okay," she murmured, unable to keep her voice from breaking.

"Darling," he whispered, extending his hand to her. She stood and leaned against the edge of the bed and he pulled her to lean against his chest. "I'm alright. I promise I am. They'll keep me here overnight for observation, and then I'll be back at home bothering you by tomorrow afternoon."

"There are only so many times that this will all be a ruse. What am I supposed to do when it's the real call? When I come down here and...you're not laughing with Stefen?"

"We'll all go someday, Della."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear. "Perry, stop it."

"Could happen any time. Heart attack, stroke. Car accident. Old enemy coming back for revenge. Who knows?"

"Perry, _stop it_," Della repeated firmly.

"People die all the time. Especially in hospitals. All it takes is one little complication with a surgery or a medication mix up...you never know. You just never know."

"Stop it!" Della yelled.

Inhaling a deep breath, Della sat up and blinked. It was dark, but she knew she was in her own bed. Perry was right beside her-no, he wasn't. Fallen asleep at his desk? No, no, he _was _in the hospital. It all came back slowly as she breathed in the cool air of the bedroom that smelled like his aftershave and her perfume.

A stress dream. It wouldn't be the first time the tension of her waking hours had led to a disturbance during her sleeping ones. Usually though, Perry was there when she started so violently that the whole bed frame shook. As she worked to regain her composure, she'd have the steady weight of his arm over her and the gentle rhythm of his breathing to bring her back down to earth.

Men never seemed to have any trouble sleeping-at least, _her_ man never had. Aside from knee pain, he'd always enjoyed hours of heavy, uninterrupted sleep. Even when they were in the midst of some of the worst cases, when they'd stumbled into a bloody and mangled crime scene with an even more bloodied and mangled corpse. Those images haunted Della for days, but Perry had somehow learned to dismiss them.

The doctor had practically _promised_ that there would be more knee surgeries to come, despite the success of the one they'd performed that very morning. It would become a regular part of their lives. Visits to the orthopedic surgeon would come as regularly as a trip to the dentist every six months. _This_ time, there hadn't been any complications. But the next time, or the time after that?

What then?

Della twisted her wedding band around her finger and snapped on the lights. Their wedding photo was framed and sitting on her nightstand.

It didn't necessarily look like a wedding photo, but it was the only one they had from the day they were married by a cruise ship captain somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. Perry in his suit and bow tie, Della in the black gown she loved so much.

His wedding band was barely visible at the bottom of the picture. So young, so happy. Eyes only for each other.

He still looked at her like that.

Della abandoned the hope of sleep and went down to the kitchen for coffee. He couldn't ease her mind now, or soothe her back to sleep, and going into the hospital with bags under her eyes would just make him pester the truth out of her. He'd be discharged in a day or so, though, and relegated to bed for another few days. She could catch up on a few nights of lost sleep then, when he was beside her, where he belonged.


End file.
